


i wait for you like a lonely house

by spacenarwhal



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Haunted Houses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 17:54:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16100783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacenarwhal/pseuds/spacenarwhal
Summary: Dear Matthew, we regret to inform you of the passing of…distantly removed great-great-great aunt, blah, blah, he skips to the part that basically promises Matt a house in exchange for spending the night in the place. The movie aficionado in Foggy thinks it’s suspect, but the lawyer with student loans that will outlive him is totally on-board.[Or: Matt and Foggy spend the night in a haunted house. And DTR.]





	i wait for you like a lonely house

“Think of it as a free vacation.” Foggy says when the letter arrives. Matt frowns, arms still crossed defensively over his chest and shoulders hunched forward like he’s trying to ward off the spirit of his long dead grandmother.

He doesn’t look especially convinced. Foggy decides to switch tactics. “You get to get out of the city for a night, and then boom! Instant real estate! You’ll be one step closer to being the lord of a stately manor.”

“It’s a townhouse in Brooklyn.” Matt says doubtfully, frown still firmly in place.

Foggy throws up his arms, letter still clutched in his hand. “Matty, house is still in the name! I mean, c’mon man, property in New York doesn’t come cheap.” He slaps the letter against the palm of his hand, flicking back open to read over it again. 

_Dear Matthew, we regret to inform you of the passing of_ …distantly removed great-great-great aunt, blah, blah, he skips to the part that basically promises Matt a house in exchange for spending the night in the place. The movie aficionado in Foggy thinks it’s suspect, but the lawyer with student loans that will outlive him is totally onboard. “I’m not even saying you have to move out of the Kitchen.” He doubts Matt wants to take on the commute to and from Brooklyn every single day, especially not if he’s serious about applying to that internship at L&Z, “But just think about it Murdock, you could be someone’s land lord.”

Matt’s mouth opens, brows already furrowing argumentatively. Foggy cuts him off before he can finish stepping up onto his soapbox about gentrification.

“What I mean is you can offer people affordable rent rates, all that good stuff you can’t find anywhere in New York City these days.” Matt’s mouth twists and Foggy knows he’s got him by the bleeding heart. 

Sure they’re both going to need to brush up on their property law, but whatever, it’ll be like a real estate investment.

“You gonna come with me?” Matt asks after a long second of chewing on his lip, and Foggy totally averts his gaze back to the letter instead of dawdling on the rosy pink color that floods Matt’s mouth as he speaks. Their relationship is still straggling somewhere between ‘bros who kiss sometimes’ to ‘common law partners for life’ and they haven’t exactly talked about it. But they’ve definitely been doing a lot more of the former and tipping closer to the latter with every conversation about the future they have. 

And now Matt’s asking him to look at real estate with him. That’s cool. 

He scans the content quickly, clears his throat. “Nothing in here about you not being able to bring guests.” He shrugs. “Sure. I can think of worse ways to spend a Friday night.”

-

The place isn’t much but it’s more than the subterranean hole he and Matt are sharing right now so it’s got that going for it. Just from the looks of it, Foggy’s betting it’s got more than one bedroom and a single sliver of a bathroom. 

“How’s it look?” Matt asks, standing shoulder to shoulder with Foggy at the bottom of the front steps. He’s fidgeting with the strap on the handle of his cane, twirling it between his fingers. Foggy hums, “Uh, it’s got...character.” He says, because that’s the mildest way of saying, “It’s sort of dark and gloomy looking and the windows are creeping me out.” Looking at the place has definitely killed the fledgingly dream Foggy was considering on the train ride over. This is not going to be a future home to share with Matt. Not personally or professionally. He’s really hoping Matt doesn’t fall in love with this place tonight and decide he want to make that commute everyday. 

“Why does that not fill me with confidence?” Matt asks wirily. 

Foggy knocks his elbow against Matt’s. “Okay, so it’s not gonna be on the cover of _Home and Garden_ but it’s definitely got potential.”

“Amityville potential?” Matt asks jokingly, and Foggy looks back at the windows and has to admit Matt’s not far off the mark. 

“Shut up and stick close. I’m not convinced there aren’t holes in the floorboard you could fall through.”

Matt laughs, fingers reaching for Foggy’s arm. He squeezes at Foggy’s bicep, once, twice, the second touch lingering longer than the first in a way that makes Foggy’s heart actually _flutter_ before they start up the front steps. 

-

The inside is surprisingly promising considering the exterior. From the inside the windows are nowhere as unsettling as they look from the outside. They let in a good amount of light from the street, fill the front room with clear grey afternoon sun. “It’s not bad, Matty.” Foggy says, describing the room, the layout of the sheet covered furniture, the odd array of boxes. Most of it is going to be shipped off to local charity shops according to the letter, though Matt’s allowed to pick things he’d like to keep. Provided he spends the night. 

“So what gives with the Hitchcockian provision?” Foggy asks, leading them into the next room. “I mean, I know you weren’t super close with the late Great Aunt Dorothy but…” 

The dark floorboards creak a fair amount underfoot as they investigate every adjoining room on the first floor. The front room leads back into a cramped, narrow dining room. Matt shrugs, fingers skimming down Foggy’s arm and coming to rest in the crook of his elbow. “I never met her. I’m honestly sort of surprised she knew about me. I think she was my mom’s godmother, maybe. I don’t know.” 

There’s a too long pause after, and Foggy kicks himself for asking at all. Family is a fickle subject for most people. It’s a downright mine field for Matt. Dead dad. Missing mom. Too many nuns. Foggy manuvers them along the long length of the room, trying to squeeze pass the overly large wood dining table set for six, the tabletop crammed full of mismatched dishes and candlesticks and loose drawers piled with silver flatware. Something about the sight of it makes the skin on Foggy’s neck crawl, like it’s just sitting there waiting for someone who’s never coming back. “Okay, looks like we’re gonna be eating in the kitchen.” Foggy says, making a grab for Matt’s hand as he leads him onward. Matt doesn’t protest, palm warm and dry. 

The kitchen is down a short flight of stairs. Compared to the dining room, the kitchen is practically empty, nothing except for a bare wooden table, thick and unpolished, obviously built for function rather than aesthetic, the appliances still plugged into the wall and a large white sink. Matt wrinkles his nose. “Tell me there’s a window we can open.” 

Foggy looks around. There’s a narrow one, no more than a foot by a foot large, hard to reach even when he’s balanced on the lone stool he was able to locate, but it lets in a thin current of air from the street above. 

“On second thought, I’m thinking we should order in.” Foggy says, trying to clean grime out from under his nails. “This place looks like we need tetanus shots just to touch anything.” 

Matt laughs, but there’s something uneasy tugging at the corner of his mouth, it twists as he taps his cane against the tiled floor. Away from the sunlit rooms upstairs the crawling creepy feeling from before bubbles back to life at the bottom of Foggy’s belly. Maybe it’s the cold, or the dimness or the stuffy mildew scent that seems to permeate this cavernous room, but something about it makes Foggy’s skin ripple over the muscles of his body. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. He misses their little kitchen back in the Kitchen, cramped with appliances and the wobbly card table that doubles as a desk and dining area. 

“Wanna check out the rest of your estate Mr Murdock?” Foggy asks, knocking his elbow against Matt’s arm. Matt jumps, almost as though distracted, laughs absentmindedly under his breath.

“Sure,” Matt replies, shaking his head, “Lead the way Mr Nelson.”

-

Upstairs there’s another flight of stairs. Foggy counts: one bathroom, two closets, and way too much sheet covered furniture. Foggy keeps catching himself jumping at things dancing just out of focus in the corner of his eyes, only to look over and see nothing more than a chair draped in a sheet. 

_Get it together Nelson_ , he chides himself, taking a step closer to Matt. They investigate the bedrooms last. There’s one bedroom on the second floor landing, another down the hall that extends past the third, just four steps up. Foggy keeps talking but Matt seems distracted, keeps turning his head in a way that reminds Foggy of their first year in the dorms when their neighbor would blast Foo Fighters in the middle of the night. Except there’s definitely no music playing now. 

At least none Foggy can hear.

“This place is too big.” Matt mumbles, tapping his cane against the first step on the last flight of stairs. He sounds distracted, like his attention isn’t on the staircase with Foggy. But the comment eases some of the worried knot Foggy’s been carrying with they got here, because Matt definitely doesn’t sound sold on this place. 

“It could definitely use some tender loving care.” Foggy answers absentmindedly, silently agreeing as they peek into the first bedroom. There’s a lot of big dark wood furnishings and a bed covered in an ugly bedspread, all green and pink and frilly as all hell, something Mom’s Aunt Enid would have loved. 

The second bedroom is a little bigger, probably the master suite. _Probably the room she died in_ , Foggy thinks before he can stop himself, the thought just adds shivers to the ones already running up his spine. “The decor is little less horrible in here.” Foggy says, looking from the heavy red curtains hanging over the windows over to the dark furniture and moth eaten comforter. 

“Uh,” Foggy says, after describing the basic layout of the room and its features. “I’m thinking this is your room, since you’re the master of the house and all.” Foggy doesn’t want to assume they’re sharing tonight since they don’t always, but his stomach turns a little, imagining himself so far away from Matt, or more accurately, Matt so far from him. Matt _here_.

Matt isn’t listening though, he’s lowering himself on to one corner of the bed, head tipped slightly to the left in Foggy’s direction. “Can you open the window?” Matt asks, something rough in his voice. “Maybe air this place out.”

Foggy sniffs, a yeah there’s that shut in dusty smell that reminds him of his grandma’s rumpus room, but there’s something else, something more than stale air. Rancid maybe. If he’s catching a hint of it Matt must be getting it worse, the guy’s a total bloodhound in normal situations. “Sure.” He says, reaching out to pull aside the heavy curtains only to reveal more of the ugly floral wallpaper pasted to the rest of the walls. “What kind of nonsense is this?”

“What? Am I missing out on a view?” Matt asks quizzically, voice rocky despite his attempt at humor. Foggy swallows, a funny kind of lump leaping upward in his throat. He lets the curtain fall back into place, takes a quick step back. 

“This window’s a fake out, Matty. Sorry.” He adds apologetically, stopping at Matt’s side, suddenly overcome with a need to get out of the room. “Hey, wanna check out the other room, maybe there’ll be a secret room behind the closet. You can help me look for a hidden switch.” 

Matt opens his mouth, but there’s something unsettled there, Foggy sees it before Matt can hide it behind a grin. 

“Sure.” He gets up and this time he doesn’t reach for Foggy’s arm, he initiates the handholding all on his own, slides their fingers together tight. “Lead the way.”

Foggy squeezes Matt’s hand tight and tries to convince himself he isn’t afraid.

-

It doesn’t take much discussion for them to decide to go out for dinner. They have to be back at the house before sundown when Aunt Dorothy’s guy is going to stop by to remind them of the terms and conditions, but they don’t exactly hurry through their meal. 

For a second Foggy almost convinces himself that the weird choking feeling growing in him had nothing to do with the house. Low blood sugar he tells himself, feeling better with every bite of his burger. Matt sure as hell seems more himself, laughing into his milkshake and stealing Foggy’s fries. 

“Okay, I’m going to be completely transparent right now.” Foggy says, nothing but napkins left over on their trays and the fact that they can’t put off heading back to the house for much longer. “The house sort of gives me the heebie jeebies.” Matt chuckles, twists a straw wrapper around his knuckles. “Oh, god, I thought it was just me.”

Foggy waves his hands, “Dude, no. Full stop. I’m am legitimately creeped out. It’s just so...big.”

“And stuffy.” Matt adds, though there’s something else he’s not saying, Foggy can see him biting it back. 

“And what’s the deal with the fake out curtains? Like, who does that? No offense or anything.”

“We don’t have to stay.” Matt offers mildly, “I mean if you’re really uncomfortable.”

Foggy slumps forward, pushes a wadded up napkin around the tray, trying to avoid the splatter of ketchup. “No, I totally talked you into this experiment, I can’t just bail on you now. We’re in this together Murdock. Better or worse.”

“Didn’t know we were getting married.” Matt jokes, ears going pink. 

Foggy blushes, grateful that at the very least Matt can’t _see_ him feeling like an asshole. 

“Shut up Murdock. I wouldn’t accept your creepy house as a dowry, anyhow.”

-

“Guess what doesn’t improve in the dark?” Foggy asks flatly, flicking on every last lamp he can get his hands on. Matt’s mouth twists ruefully and Foggy groans. “Shut up, you know what I mean.”

Matt shrugs, somehow in better spirits since their return to the place than he was before they left. Maybe it’s something about finding strength in numbers, Foggy can’t say for sure. 

Or at least he is until they hear a thud from downstairs. The change is instantaneous, Matt’s back goes rigid, his shoulders stiffening, looking more like a fighter waiting for the onset of an attack than a broke intern. “Fuck,” Foggy whispers, body frozen, looking at the floorboards like maybe he’ll be able to see right through them, “I think we left the window open. I should--”

Matt’s arm darts out, his hand closes into a fist in the back of Foggy’s sweatshirt. “Leave it.” He says, “It’s not--” he clears his throat, warning bells sounding off in Foggy’s head, all of him telling him he should go, go now, the farther the better, for no reason he can clearly explain. Matt’s iron grip loosens a little, but his hand stays on Foggy’s back. “You said it was small right?” Matt asks and Foggy nods, fights off the urge to grab hold of Matt for himself. “Yeah, it was pretty tiny. I mean--I guess a really small bugler could--”

Foggy strains his ears but there’s nothing, nothing for him to hear. The quiet makes him nervous. 

“It’s nothing.” Matt says again, noticeably trying to sound more confident than he is when his mouth is still pinched with worry. “C’mon, we can lock the door to the stairwell if you’re worried. But it’s nothing. Just the house settling.” 

“Man, you sound like the hot guy in every horror movie ever.” Foggy jokes, trying to dispel the queasy fearful feeling collecting in his belly. 

Matt grins weakly. “Guess that makes you the hot blonde.”

Foggy shoves at Matt without any real force, “Shut up or it’ll be nothing but comic relief for you.”

-

They lock the door at the top of the stairwell and then Foggy jams a chair under the doorknob just in case. He leaves the lights on in the dining room after them, for whatever consolation there is in seeing, and then feels a lot like an asshole for being scared of the dark. 

Matt’s unwound a little, but he doesn’t take them back to the living room afterward, grabbing Foggy’s wrist and asking if he’s cool heading up. Foggy definitely doesn’t want to hang around down here by himself with all those stairs between him and Matt, so he agrees.

They grab their stuff and amble up the stairs that seem creakier and longer than they had that afternoon. The tiny sconces with their small, dim bulbs don’t provide nearly enough light, the deep red lamp shades encasing them sure as hell don’t help, morphing the ugly floral print on the walls into some kind of twisting shadow mural. 

“This is me.” Foggy says, at the first landing, wishing he’d had the presence of mind to come upstairs and turn the bedroom light on before he had to come in. 

He doesn’t know if its his imagination but Matt seems reluctant to go, so Foggy opens his mouth before he can help himself: “You wanna hunker down in here?”

Matt smiles faintly, “Now who’s trying to recreate a horror movie?”, but there’s something like relief in his voice when he says it. 

-

It’s almost like being back home. They get ready for bed like they would any other night, shed their clothes and slip into their sleepwear without pretense or hesitation. Matt stretches out on the bed on the side closest to the door because that’s what he does, has always done, for as long as Foggy’s known him. Foggy reads another chapter of his last library pick up-- “Crime, Matty, solved by cats.”--reciting a few choice lines for Matt’s pleasure. It feels almost like home.

But then Foggy’s eyes start to drop and Matt’s chuckles turn distinctly drowsy and there’s no putting off the inevitable. Foggy’s by the door--locked tight and maybe Foggy wants to set his bag in front of it just in case but knows he can’t in case Matt gets up in the middle of the night--fingers unsteady as he reaches for the light switch. 

It’s at least seven steps from here to the bed, and for the first time in years Foggy’s afraid of making that walk once the light goes off. 

Matt looks ridiculous on the bed, hoodie pulled on and sleeves tugged as far over his hands as possible because he says the sheets feel as bad as the kitchen smells. “You could leave them on.” He says quietly, curled towards Foggy. “They won’t bother me.”

“I swear I haven’t needed a nightlight since I was eight.” Foggy says, feeling strangely defensive. He knows, from what he’s seen, that’s he’s definitely not the only one who’s weirded out by this place, but there’s something to admitting it now, here, something about sleeping with the lights on when he’s supposed to be an adult that makes him ashamed. 

“Come to bed, Fog.” Matt says, voice low, intimate, in a voice that sounds like home even here, in this place that makes Foggy feel like there’s something watching him from the corners of every room. 

Foggy slips into bed and doesn’t waste a second, pressing himself along Matt’s back, face hidden against the back of his neck to block out the light. 

-

The light is still on when he jolts awake. It’s still dark out, just street lamps illuminating the sidewalk, and Foggy’s phone reads 3:36 when he checks. He’s detached from Matt at some point in the night, lying on his stomach now, Matt’s back against his arm. His head hurts in that way it does when he’s slept badly, and he rolls over, back on to his side, staring at the back of Matt’s head. 

Foggy squints, irritated by the brightness of the light and the stuffiness of the room, the heat coming off Matt’s body only adding to the discomfort. His nostrils are dry when he breathes in and his throat hurts because of it, like he’s been sleeping in an overly air conditioned room all night instead of locked in here for a scant handful of hours. 

He gets up, wishes he could go downstairs and grab a glass of water but there’s no way he’s making that trek alone and he’s certainly not waking Matt so he can hold his hand. Foggy settles for the next best thing, rolling out of bed so he can fiddle with the windows, try to pry them over a few small inches even though the frames have been painted over and the windows nearly sealed shut. Foggy has to suck a splinter out from under his nail but it’s worth it just to breathe in the thin wisps of fresh, cool air from outside, like a reminder that there’s a world beyond these walls. 

The property guy will be back at 8 o’clock, less than five hours away now, Foggy reminds himself, still standing at the window, staring out at the street below. If he can get a few more hours of sleep, it’ll pass like nothing and then he and Matt can grab breakfast and jump on the next train back to Hell’s Kitchen. 

“Foggy?” Matt’s voice is a rasp, the bedsprings creaking as Matt moves. Foggy turns towards him, bleary-eyed and ruffled with sleep. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you--”

Matt frowns, rubbing at his face. “Weren’t you--I thought you were talking to me.” 

Foggy makes his way back to the bed, eases himself down onto the ancient mattress. “Want me to whisper sweet nothings til you fall back asleep?” He teases, sort of surprised when Matt turns towards him. Matt throws his arm over Foggy’s stomach and bends a knee over Foggy’s thigh, rubs his cheek over Foggy’s shoulder. 

“I hate this place.” Matt whispers, voice so low Foggy sort of thinks he imagines it. But Matt’s holding on and there’s that unease from this afternoon back, hanging heavy in the room even with the window open. 

“Let’s not raise the kids here.” Foggy whispers back, slipping his arm around Matt’s shoulders and pulling him as close as he can. 

“Deal.” 

-

The sun rises turns the sky a soft shade of dark blue, like expensive trendy jeans. Matt huffs a quiet laugh into his coffee cup, like Foggy is the crazy one. Foggy carries on with his vivid description of sunrise breaking over the city through the window of the donut shop their sitting in, still dressed in their sleepwear, duffle bags under their feet. 

Matt says he’ll call the real estate guy later, just to find out what happens to the house now. “We can cite Stambovsky,” Foggy says thoughtfully, ripping his donut in half and exposing the bright red cherry jelly inside. “You know if you want to contest the will and still get it or--”

Matt knocks his ankle against Foggy’s stool. “I wouldn’t try to get you with a ghost house.” 

Foggy sputters, taken aback by the turn in the conversation. “Uhm, cool. ‘Cause, I don’t want one.”

Matt nods, mouth turning upwards in grin, “Holding out for a two bedroom in Chelsea, Nelson?”

Foggy rolls his eyes, leaning over to kiss Matt on the cheek. Because he’s an idiot. And Foggy’s stuck with him. “Chelsea? It’s Hell’s Kitchen or bust with me, Matthew.”

Matt laughs, reaches over and grabs Foggy’s shoulders, holds him steady, face overly serious when he announces. “I’m going to kiss you now, Fog.”

The sun keeps rising outside the window. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've been trying to write a DD ghost story for ages! I did not foresee this coming. Story time: My sister and I went to a friend's wedding in a tiny two street town and decided to book a room in one of two local hotels. This hotel was a "historic site" but man was it creepy as shit. It partially influenced this story. 
> 
> Also NY had one of my favorite rulings of all time. Officially it's called Stambovsky v Ackley, but unofficially it's called The Ghostbuster ruling. Basically, if you say your property is haunted, then you have to disclose that to any future buyer for the contract to be valid (if I'm interpreting that correctly).


End file.
